(I wrote this with Dragon Speak and didn't take the time to edit or change the mistakes. I just want to get it up to remember. So proceed, realizing there will be funny gibberish between.)
She
sat next to him, searching his face, reflecting the same mingling of fear and
curiosity.
Comments
and screamed orders for him to leave, to look away, and to remember his place.
His thoughts obeyed, envisioning leaving the cavern, returning to the main
caverns. There was water to be hauled, fuel to be gathered — a hundred mundane
tasks left for his hands.
His
body rebelled, frozen in place as his thoughts turned taking a very different
route. Unsure of who moved forward, he felt the forbidden lips touch his; a
single brush severing his resolve.
As usually happens during a kiss scene, the scene
completely stops in my head as though someone pushed pause on the movie I'm
watching. I sit back, making large circles with both arms as though that will
set the film rolling again.
"And…"
Nothing comes. I sigh. "I really suck at
romance."
Maybe it's because I've never actually kissed. I
don't remember ever kissing. I don't remember anyone ever kissing me. Maybe on
the cheek when I was three.
My first inclination is to interrupt the kissing,
but common sense tells me that would be bad for Decharo. A friend.
Interrupting, would just make it awkward. Anybody else would get him into a
whole slew of trouble. He's already going to be in trouble in the next scene.
My thoughts returned to characters in them scene.
"All right guys. So now what you do?"
Decharo breaks the third wall, entering from his
world into mine and getting that rather sort of a cocky attitude that all my
characters get want to venture into dialogue with me.
"Well, we could just keep kissing."
"For the rest of the book?" A laugh works
its way into my skepticism.
He grins. "Sure. Why not? It's bound to be
better than whatever you have planned."
I wince. It probably is. I'm already working to make
Decharo's future better than the original story implied it would be, but I am
as uncertain of his future as I am of my own.
"I don't know." I avoid his remark.
"Romance just still silly to me. I have no idea what it's like to
kiss."
His eyebrows arch. "You mean I've done
something that the author hasn't?"
"Yeah, yeah." I try not to let bitterness
seep in. "Rub it in, all you want. Just shows me how what happens after
you kiss."
I can see in Decharo’s face that he's thinking there's
a vast difference between what happens in the story after he kisses, and what
he would like to happen after he
kisses.
I mentally forced him away from my world and back
into the story, then pause to answer a text from Rob. Decharo Shannondant go
right back to kissing, which makes me frustrated thinking about how in the
world. I'm going to describe it, and then makes me grin because Decharo's
nearly as good as guarded as myself, and they are pretty dang cute doing it. I
chew the inside of my lip, wondering if I can manipulate events to give them a
happy ending.
Okay. So what do I see in this scene? There sitting
on a rock, conveniently shaped. Sort of like the bench. Shannondant is in the
cranberry dress, but as they zero in on the sleeves. They start changing shape
I can clearly see the picture anymore. Then I get distracted because my vocal
program is doing funky things with the grammar, and it's throwing me off.
Back to the picture.
Bits of white are poking out of Shannondant steps scalloped
sleeves kind of like Italian Renaissance. If that even a fashion in Erilerre? Now
she suddenly looks like she stepped out of “Ever After."
Whatever. She's clean and neat which must've taken
efforts the she lives in the caves with the rest of them. His close are tan,
probably made out of some animal hide. And they are not dressed for winter.
I mentally manipulate the image. This is why I hate
description. It constantly changes on me from seeing the story, to just filling
in blanks when ever I'm trying to zero in on what I'm actually seeing. This is
not what they look like when the actual scene was happening.
So they're still on the rock. Her hand is still on
his cheek, which seems inappropriate, but then again, she is Shannondant and
she's been awfully pushy in this scene. She should be wearing a cloak. The
caves are cold and wet, and she is a princess, so it should be a fairly nice
cloak. However, she lives with a bunch of men who are not fashion conscious nor
have an overly high opinion of her, because she is a woman. So I give her a
plane cranberry, woolen cloak. Perhaps to make it pretty, she's in bordered
tiny designs on the front of it. Yes, I like that. Little Celtic knot the trail
around the hood and down the front of the opening. They are yellow-ish gold.
Her sleeves are tight now, tight and layered under hair hangs down in a long,
thick braid down her back. It's rolled around the top and yes Decharo, she is
beautiful. Now that I can see more clearly what she's wearing, I replaced her
into the picture, balancing on a leather Brown shoe and leaning forward to kiss
him. I'm pretty sure was her who initiated the kissing.
Decharo is still not dressed for winter. But then
again, he probably really isn't. His clothing is ragged. Nobody cares much what
he looks like, so long as he has something
to wear. But I'm working on description, so I'll look him over. His sleeves are
baggy as are most Erish shirts, so there's plenty of room for work. There's a
few slight tears, and smudges from the dirt and probably cinders from the fire.
His hands are still cracked, laced with black dirt and ashes. Even if he scrubs
them, they still won't ever look quite clean. Like your hands look will look
after you worked on the engine of the car. Oh, there is his cloak. Sitting
beside him. It's gray and woolen and rough and looked scratchy. They must've
set it aside whenever they decided to cut his hair.
His pants are made out of some sort of animal skin.
I guess waterproof helps keep the cold out. His boots go to his knees, and
looks to be the newest thing about him.
I suddenly wondered Shannondant will keep any of
that here. That's on the ground, and half of me thinks it's cute, but most of
me thinks that’s just kind of creepy.
He needs something to keep them from looking like a
pirate, so I give him a vest also made from a soft tan leather. There. Now I
have a definite picture that looks like he belongs in Eirlerre. There's not
much also around. Rocks, walls, and a torch for light. He’ll have to bring her
back to the main part or someone else will. Even flustered, he would not leave
her there alone.
Which reminds me that I actually need to get back to
the story plot. I turn on Pandora, and the slowly dreamy piano music
accompanies the scene which just makes me think of camera shots drifting around
the couple as they kiss. Her hand goes to his face. One of his hands inches to
her waist, though he is more hesitant. I go ahead and let the scene play out in
my head, even though it's not forming words that I can actually write down.
His hand creeps from her waists up to brush his
thumb through her hair. He's always wanted to touch her hair. Now creeps around
the back of her head, pulling her closer. 300 more words, and I could be at a
word count for an entire day. If I can just learn how to do this using quality
words that are actually part of the story.
Dreamy piano music is coming to an end. I hope a new
musical bring insight.
Scenario number one begins.
He pulls back, looking into her eyes, his own
eyebrows drawing down as panic seeps in. Realizing what he's done. "I'm
sorry."
She watches him calmly. "I'm not. You shouldn't
be either."
He gets up and leaves and she sits a bit frustrated.
I don't think that was it. I change the dreamy piano music.
Pandora has a sense of humor. A Jamaica beat
accompanies the lyrics, "Today, I don't feel like doing anything. I just want
to lay in my bed."
It completely evade the caves. It cracks me up and
ruins the images as my characters start dancing around. Good by Bruno Marrs.
Hello Loreena MeKennit. Beneath a Phyrigian Sky begins with a haunting song of
pipes and a violin that sounds like it’s coming from the middle east somewhere.
Close, but not quite.
“The old ways” begins, sounding much better.
Unfortunately, the song makes me think more of
Andrew and Clara. Though on reflection it works for Decharo and Shannondant as
well.
And here I am, beautiful violin music, nearly had a
nano word count, and still without a good scene. Oh well. At least I know what
they're wearing. I think about the bay, my black book and pencil, and decide
that was might be a better way to write after all. So here I go, off to write
the way I normally do. It's usually more streamlined and effective.
I procrastinate, realizing that when all is said and
done, I still don't know how to write a kissing scene. Perhaps someone will
interrupt them. After all. For the story to work, they don't need enough time
to reflect on their feelings for each other. That part comes later.
So. Now to find who or how they are interrupted
with, or by. I wonder vaguely if I’ll ever actually be able will to write out
loud like this without completely rambling like I've just done.
